Electromagnate
by Johnrap
Summary: The adventures of a man who has survived since the pre-historical apocalypse, meeting and influencing many historical persons. Currently he sees apocalyptic times repeating due to the rediscovery of technology that becomes a nightmare when wielded by beings of free will. To save the world he must overcome fears and change tactics. He must go beyond influence and take direct action.
1. Chapter 01

**CHAPTER 1**

_One spark…_

_One spark and a very small set of rules produce the signal_

_The signal that speaks to everything._

_Everything!_

The one spark looks like a piece from the game Tetris. It looks like the L-shaped piece, with one extra block sticking out of the middle of its back. The piece starts off taking up five spots on a graph paper-like grid. As the generations of a computer simulation progress, it soon fills the entire display. Then the display grows and grows until it eventually becomes something that looks like a simulation of a galaxy.

It is not a simulation of a galaxy though. It is just pixels.

The screen-exploding display is generated by a computer program called Life. The Life program has very simple rules, just a few lines of code that tell the dots whether to turn on or off based on what the cells beside are doing. The Life program is a computer meme from a time when processing power was scarce and expensive. Computer professionals used down cycles of the computer to sim Life.

The geekier early computer pros shared their Life simulations with each other. They traded information and followed rabidly which of the starting seeds produced what "life." Most random starting seeds quickly died out.

A starting seed could be hundreds or thousands of dots and still die out in a few seconds worth of generations. The simple r-pentomino though expands like the big bang. A five-block seed that is connected and looks like a Tetris piece, is the r-pentomino. No super computer invented to this day, can sim the r-pentomino to completion.

The lecture is being presented by Cota Hall, the visionary leader of a shadowy organization that operates both visibly and invisibly.

Hall is a self-made billionaire. He has built probably the most obscene structure in the city. It is a tall office building—tall enough to compensate for Hall's lack of height. The building appears to have been intentionally shaped in a way that blatantly says, "Screw you" to any onlookers.

You know those ancient obelisks that were just upright cylinders of stone? Well, this building is like one of those, with a couple of additions at the base. Not many people could have had this building approved. Hall was the Mayor of the city during the entire time the structure was being built. He has held no political offices other than Mayor, either before or since.

On top of Hall's skyscrapers is a somehow more obscene communications tower. The antenna on top makes the building the tallest structure in the city. Branded on the tower is a logo that exactly matches the pendant Hall wears on his tassel tie. The logo is two snakes circling an antenna in such a way that, together, the three form something very reminiscent of a dollar sign.

The tassel tie is another thing. Cota could perhaps get the same effect by growing a chin-only beard long, and putting the pendant high on the beard. He wears a tassel tie though. Hall is one of those eccentric billionaires.

A data center filled with racks of servers is the location where a beyond-capacity number of brethren computer professionals are listening to Cota Hall's lecture.

_Consciousness interprets the signal. Love binds together._

_The bodies in the sky once defined our vision. The sun, the moon, and the stars were once clearly visible to all for hours each day._

_You could travel the planet and wherever you went, everyone knew the stars._

_The war is over. Evil won. The experiment once believed to be the cradle of civilization has been reduced to a nursery for individuals._

_When the nursery no longer nurtures, it will be forgotten, for lack of purpose, and left to rot._

The visions of Cota Hall do not stop at billions of dollars, obscene landmarks and political offices. The man believes his ideas can help every person on earth, if implemented.


	2. Chapter 02

**CHAPTER 2**

"Squawk!"

"No! No one ever thought the earth was flat."

An old man, apparently homeless, is arguing with a pigeon and holding a sign that says, "Need cash for alcohol research."

"Squawk! Squaawwk!"

"And the back of a sea turtle_ is_ round."

The old man doesn't have any food or a home, it seems. That doesn't stop the bird from squawking. The man and the pigeon continue to argue. The pair argue like an old couple on a city bus. This does not appear to be a random dust up. It is more like an on-going squabble.

The old man's name is Noetal. He appears to be about seventy-five years old. He is big and strong though—not a frail seventy-five.

Noetal has some time. In a matter of days, the world, as we know it, will end. It might not though. The fate of our species on earth will be determined by the decisions the man will make between now and then. Right now, he has decided to argue with a pigeon about the intelligence of our early ancestors.

Old Noe has some time. He doesn't have a lot of time. He has some time.

Perhaps sensing the impending doom, Noetal stands up and lifts his bent leg high and to the side. Then he goes for an itch that he could not get to without the limber move. Noetal's pirouette is an impressive yoga posture for a man of Noe's age—very impressive.

The pigeon flies away, well ahead of any impending doom.

During a loud yawn, Noetal takes a peek through the window he is camped out under. There is a man in the office; Noetal can see him clearly through the window. He is writing computer code on one screen, while his email is open on another. The computer programmer also has a personal, portable computer with him that he has open internet videos and a couple of conspiracy theory chat forums.

One of the forums open on the programmer's personal computer is a chat forum topic with the title, "Who is the Nobody?" The folks on the forum discuss "the Nobody." Folks on the forum say that plans of doom are on hold until "the Nobody" issue is resolved. "The Nobody" is described as the right person in the wrong place. "The Nobody" is someone who wields a power that is perceived but not understood. The masters of doom want to figure this power out before their plans move forward.

Back at street level, a man is heading down the sidewalk towards Noetal and talking into a phone in a frustrated voice. The slightly pudgy man, with muscles under his fat, is dressed in business casual. He is heading down the sidewalk and right towards Noetal, while alternatively barking and pleading into his phone.

"Denise, if there was a problem, I'd tell you." Pause. "No." Pause. "No. I'm not upset. I love having dinner with your friends. I just can't get out of this warehousing project that's happening tonight."

The man continues, "Denise… listen…"

At this point, Noetal interrupts the man's monologue, "It looks like so-o-o-o-me-body has got a case of the Muunndays!"

Noetal gets into the man's face and he does air quotes to emphasize the word "Mondays." There isn't really a point to air quoting "Mondays." It works out though, since today is not Monday. It is not even close to Monday.

**. . .**

A few blocks across town, in an obscenely tall building with both an oval sports stadium and a hexagon convention center at its base, the building owner, Cota Hall, is continuing his lecture. Easter Island heads, globally recurring star references, and megalithic ruins appear on the screen behind the diminutive billionaire technophile.

_On the surface of our planet, monuments to the true signal were built. _

_The structures were trivial compared to the grandeur of the natural world, but through form that proclaimed intelligence, and through repetition and persistence, a powerful message was understood._

"_We got this."_

The legitimate corporate headquarters of Jekyll Corp are all you will ever see in the building. The underground and esoteric nature of CEO Cota Hall, and many of his special employees, exists only in their minds. They share beliefs and interpretations. Sometimes it is a tiny difference; sometimes their beliefs are so far from mainstream, it is as if they are talking about another planet.

When the average person sees a pyramid, they think of thousands of stone-age workers using simple tools, and years and years of careful labor to build the structure. Cota Hall and his ardent followers see in pyramids, an achievement of information theory. They see a harnessing of the earth's natural electromagnetic resources, and a statement of humanity's dominance of the planet.

Hall's empire is built on information architecture and the services he provides to his clients, such as secure cloud storage, real-time trading platforms, targeted ad placements, mobile phone widgets, and much more. It is when he employs his informational advantage on internal company projects that things get nefarious. Those projects are exclusively staffed by selected cult follower-type employees. The time for those projects gets buried in the percentage of time that each employee of Jekyll Corp is allowed to spend on projects they assign themselves.

The business and technology press describe Hall as eccentric. He has been called subversive. Many do not trust him. Everyone believes he has secrets. Thus far, though, most people feel they benefit from Jekyll Corp products. They don't ask a lot of questions about how these services are being provided.

During the early years, Hall's Jekyll Corp was accused of running their applications on computing hardware that belonged to others. Publicly, Hall denied the charge and put out some ridiculous story about cramming computer guts straight into server racks to increase capacity 500 percent. Not that 500 percent would have come even close to explaining the disparity. There was a big difference between the data storage capabilities calculated to fit into Jekyll's server room and the storage that they were demonstrably using.

It was easy to demonstrate that Hall's Jekyll was stealing storage. It was quantifiable. The reality though, was that Jekyll was also stealing processing cycles, Internet bandwidth, and electricity from every man, woman, and child on earth that used any of Jekyll's _free_ services, such as search and email.

Behind the scenes, Jekyll Corp buried words in their Terms of Service about utilizing the computer resources where their programs run. This protected them from accusations of theft. It also made utilizing client resources an official part of the business strategy.

Not many people made accusations towards Jekyll. Most people didn't understand Jekyll's freeloading. Some, who did understand, chose not to raise the ire of the people who determine what comes back when their name is searched on the Internet. Still, others looked at Jekyll as a type of high-tech sharing hub for the common good. Some political hacktivists even viewed Hall as a hero for reallocating unused computing power away from inactive computer owners and using it for the common good.

Deeply behind the scenes, Cota Hall and his engineers at Jekyll started to view other opportunities in the market. What other programmable information resources could they redirect for the common good? Human brains had computing power for the taking, though most at Jekyll dismissed the directing of human brains as evil.


	3. Chapter 07

**CHAPTER 7**

A Brazilian military-grade helicopter with a searchlight is circling an infamous nightclub in Rio de Janeiro. The helicopter isn't looking for anyone. No crime has been committed, yet. The club owners paid for the helicopter. It costs more than parking a limousine out front, but it easily brings in more business per dollar spent.

The helicopter is a beacon above the city, lighting the way for partiers, tourists, and taxis. Anyone outside the club can find the helicopter above it. Anyone inside the club sees the searchlight as it comes through massive skylight window on top of the club.

The club is jumping tonight. There are good and bad dancers grooving all over the floor. There is an assortment of sexy ladies dancing near an eight-foot-tall hulk of a man. Some of them are attracted to the giant. More of them are attracted to the spotlight around the massive man.

The man, who could probably win both the shot put and the high jump at the Olympic Games, is named Mayakul. He is a man out of time and place. He is the size of a giant of legend. His trendy club clothes do not conceal his armor, which looks like it is from pre-historic times in South America.

The oversized man looks Brazilian, but stands out amongst the crowd because of his extreme height, hulking muscles, and the animatronic wings that appear to be affixed to his back. Aside from the wings, he's wearing armor and is covered in stylish club clothes.

Not everyone is happy with the big man. Some men are angry that their dates aren't as impressed with the one who brought them there as they are with the big man. Bouncers are upset that the owner let the man in wearing metal armor under his club clothes. It's against the rules, but Mayakul wouldn't take the armor off and the owners couldn't risk the walking sideshow attraction going to a competing club. It was a risk though. If there were trouble, nothing short of bullets would stop the beast. He seemed friendly though. The calculated risk was allowed.

The giant isn't the only thing supernatural in the building tonight. Slithering in through doors, windows, and vents, something is hiding in the shadows. Something alive. Something coordinated. A pack of some things on a mission. They climb walls. They coil and spring like snakes, but they have arms and legs like men. These shadowmares are reptoid in appearance and have long, skinny legs, and extra, extra, long skinny arms.

The pack of nightmare beasts is there for Mayakul. The mountain-sized man has not escaped their watch.

The reptoid masters of stealth go undetected. They hide in shadows when possible, and can expend energy on chameleon-like changes to blend in with color and texture, when not. The flexibility of their long skinny limbs could embarrass any yoga expert. There are now over a dozen of the shadowmares in the club. Each one is over one hundred pounds, yet none of them is seen. This is a calmer situation for everyone. These things get very hostile when confronted.

The target of the pack is Mayakul, but the method will keep them away from him. Unwilling surrogates will do all of the dirty work. Mayakul is dancing and having a good time while the shadowmares are building a matrix. The first target is a skilled dancer whose date is snubbing him. The snub has nothing to do with the big one; doesn't matter. Shadowmares are in a vent above the man and hanging on a wall beside him. They are all humming.

The humming gets louder. It's masking the vowel-only whispers of the shadowmares, chanting, "eh u ii aa, eh u ii aa." It's a vowel-only chant whispered into humming that get louder and louder until the dancer responds to the chant, which leads to him thinking, "Get the big man. Get the big man."

"Watch where you are going, asshole, before your wings get clipped," says the man with more frustrated disillusionment than righteous indignation.

"Sorry, Sir," then a chuckle, is Mayakul's response.

The next Shadowmare psychological operation is already underway. Another small group was surrounding one of the female dancers, heating the air, sending vibrations, speeding up and increasing the volume of humming, all the while whisper-chanting, "ee ii aa-ii aa ooo, ee ii aa-ii aa ooo." Eventually, the woman, who was dancing her sexiest in the spotlight in front of Mayakul, was obsessed with the thought, "He is laughing at you." The wannabe starlit was pissed off.

As the woman got agitated, the jolly giant attempted to calm her with a smile. It didn't work. She burst out at him, "You're laughing at me?" She pointed her finger. "You," she said, slapping Mayakul, "are laughing at me?"

Big Mike chuckled. "I'm smiling at a beautiful and fiery woman." She stormed off in anger, smashing a tray of drinks out of a waitress' hand, shattering glass all over the dance floor.

We have a lot of angry people now. The shadowmares, having slowly built up the volume, are now howling from every vent. They are loud and it is irritating people tremendously. However, they go unnoticed, due to how slowly but surely, they had increased their volume. They started with an imperceptible tremble of air, and then slowly and consistently increased decibels over time. One decibel at a time was added, never an amount that could be noticed by people already accustomed to the lower volumes. But, what escaped the consciousness of the partiers in the club, still hit their nervous systems and frayed their nerves. People were on edge, distracted by an invisible, coordinated, and direct attack on their senses.

Shadowmares move in packs with singular purpose. They know human psychology very well. They program it. That's how they avoid detection. People are afraid to look into the shadows where the shadowmares hide. People look away to avoid the horror the sight of a shadowmare brings.

No one who encounters a shadowmare will remember it. Their memory gets scrambled into something else. The horror is otherwise too much to bear. It might show up in nightmares, but not in memories.

. . .

There is a disturbing video posted to the Internet by a man that was fired from his maintenance job at a nursing home. The video contains supernatural, or at least crypto-zoological, horror. It also says something scary about human psychology and the nature of reality.

The video begins with an elderly woman, Mrs. Buttermark, making her way down the hallway of her nursing home. The security camera is at the woman's back. Something is rolling down the hallway in the opposite direction. The movement is in unison and appears as one object, or trick of light—like a light moving a shadow down the hall.

The darkness moves down all four surfaces of the hallway, the floor, ceiling, and two walls. When the dark, rolling ball on the floor hits the elderly Mrs. Buttermark, the ball unrolls into a human-like form, a seven-foot-tall shadow man with spider-like proportions.

A tall, skinny nightmare, with long arms, black reptilian skin, a dog-shaped head, and glowing red eyes is leaning threateningly over the 85-year-old woman. The beast shrieks a piercing, almost electronic, buzzing, vibrating sound. Mrs. Buttermark is petrified. The noise and shock has affected the woman similar to a military flash-bang grenade. Her senses have left her. The beast just wants to pass the hallway. The dear old woman is not the target. It's a mean creature though. The seven-foot tall, but only one-hundred-thirty-pound lizard torques his body for leverage and slings poor Mrs. Buttermark against the wall, breaking her hip. The video freezes as the frail old woman hits the wall.

Now, with an editing trick, the video simulates a rewind, and does a freeze frame and zoom in on the face of the screaming shadowmare. Another video editing gadget shrinks the frozen frame to a quarter of the video frame. Taking up the rest of the frame is Angel Gutiérrez. Angel is, or at least was, the overnight maintenance man at the nursing home.

The day after the attack, Mrs. Buttermark reported that she was walking down the hallway while Angel was rolling a garbage pail on wheels in the opposite direction. She said that Angel carelessly let the garbage pail roll into her, then he insulted her and shoved her against the wall, breaking her hip and leaving her crumpled in the hallway.

In reality, Angel found Mrs. Buttermark in the hallway and left the garbage can when he ran for help. It didn't matter. The nursing home administrators didn't press charges against Angel, or formally accuse him of anything. They did demand his agency remove him from the nursing home. They didn't need the hassle involved with either fighting with Mrs. Buttermark's family, or claiming to have found an alien species in their nursing home.

A copy of the video was given to Angel by a sympathetic security worker and friend from the overnight shift. Angel posted the video online to clear his name, though most Internet viewers assumed the video was a viral marketing creation for an upcoming horror movie.

. . .

Today, Mayakul is the target of misdirected anger provoked by the shadowmares. In small groups, the shadowmares have frustrated enough people, sending them all at big Mike. The club's bouncers are surrounding Mayakul now.

"You're too big for me to grab your head and escort you out. I'm asking you nicely to walk out the door," said one man, a bit older than the other bouncers and probably more of a foreman.

"I'm reminding you, that you're surrounded, and I wouldn't mind a goliath head mounted on my wall," growled another; this guy could be the head bouncer's son, age wise, though he's 100 pounds heavier.

Mayakul responds, while taking a step towards the door, "Do not test my naturally good humor."

Though the bouncers and Mayakul are all acting professionally, the shadowmares have already spoiled the air, literally. Humming, vibrations, heat, moisture, odd winds, vowel-only whispers. No one in the club that isn't a dog-faced reptoid feels comfortable right now.

The reptoids are happy though. Not much pleases them more than making humans fight each other.

After another step, the fancy dancer, with the not-amused girlfriend, attacks Mayakul with a knife. In the process of swatting the jealous insect away, the knife hits the older bouncer in the throat and blood spurts onto everyone within a 10-foot radius. The older bouncer is not going to make it. The younger bouncers are not going to take it.

More weapons come out, now from the bouncers. Mayakul is facing an angry crowd filled with people who had treated him as a hero before the slithering demons infested the club.

"You are dead," the younger, stronger bouncer, said, now with a baton in hand, "D-E-A-D," the letters punctuating each movement towards Mayakul.

Mayakul separated the bouncer from the baton. With one hand, he swings the 300-pound bouncer, clearing a lot of space. The bouncer's head hits another member of club security and both of the enforcers are knocked unconscious. Several other people are knocked around too. Though considering the potential, things are still quite under control.

With his right hand, Mayakul brings the baton to his mouth and bites the weapon to a sharp edge. The giant then flings the baton with a side back arm motion, and the sharpened stick takes off like a dart, and with a howling shriek of pain, the baton pins a now writhing black mass of reptile against the wall.

Along with the frightened masses, the shadowmares are now leaving the building. The beasts go through every conceivable exit, doors, windows, and vents. People are finally noticing the bizarre species as club patrons get knocked over by the retreating shadowmares. Some partiers get screamed at, thrown, and even slashed. They are nightmare beasts. Our psyches are programmed to forget them. Indeed, reports from bystanders describe a massive brawl, with broken bottles and other weapons.

There are no reports of reptoids or walking dogs to the police and emergency medical technicians now swarming the building and placing authority on the scene.

Before flying right up through the skylight, Mayakul grabs the shadowmare that he pinned to the wall with the sharpened baton that he flung like a dart. While flying out of Brazil, Mayakul snaps some limbs off of the shadowmare. The carcass is thrown at the military helicopter to ward it off. A shadowmare leg is snapped at the knee and separated. It makes a nice after battle snack.


End file.
